


Unhandsome Men

by mew_tsubaki



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Konoha is a Good Friend, Konoshiro on the side, M/M, One Night Stands, oh well, that happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7841527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mew_tsubaki/pseuds/mew_tsubaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Onaga, Washio, and vanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unhandsome Men

**Author's Note:**

> The Haikyuu! characters belong to Furudate Haruichi-sensei, not to me. A random idea that plagued even my dreams… :L Read, review, and enjoy!

It was his first year of high school, and he tried.

He'd heard the hype about high school and had some guesses at the drama that went on during that part of one's life. But, for Onaga Wataru…it wasn't really his cup of tea.

He was in one of the college prep classes at Fukurodani, and he supposed that meant something. Maybe…maybe it meant he'd make something of himself. He'd have to, with a face like his.

"Omonaga-kun."

It wasn't as though he hadn't grown up hearing that name, whether on purpose or by accident. His father even had told him early on that it was bound to happen—the "strong jaw" and "defined nose" ran in the Onaga blood, and more so in the men than in the women, so "Omonaga" was a familiar moniker.

Not that that cheered Onaga up much, if at all.

His mother's advice wasn't much help, either. "Don't worry about it," she said often. "Some women find a face like yours very attractive. Or you could put it to good use."

But Onaga wanted to protest. Girls didn't find his face attractive. So just what did "put it to good use" mean?

Early on in the year, he came across the volleyball club and saw a third year take a ball to the face. It kept the ball in game, at least. So Onaga decided that maybe that was what his mother had meant, and he joined the club.

He'd played a little bit in middle school, and he knew he'd end up a middle blocker again, with his height. Hell, he was even the tallest of the new members as well as the regulars, so Fukurodani quickly put him to good use as a starting player.

There, as a volleyball player, Onaga felt a little less hopeless, just a little. He didn't have to study all the time—the game breathed some new life into him. But all good things came to an end, Onaga realized, and the managers overheard one of his classmates one day mistakenly call him "Omonaga."

"Ehh, _Omonaga_ -kun?"

"Is that a nickname~? Cute~"

He knew they meant no harm, but then the other senior members heard it, and—just as it was in the classroom—it was now hard to escape the one thing he was trying to leave behind when at practice. Understanding that he wouldn't be able to shake the label off, Onaga did the only remaining thing he could: He smiled. But a smile didn't always have to be a smile.

Sometimes a smile was a defense mechanism.

Onaga never corrected his senpai about the name—it would be too much of a hassle—but he began to look for other ways to handle the situation, for the advice of others, because smiling that much really wore him down.

Bokuto was not an option. The guy was too cheery for his own good, and he had nothing bothering him.

Komi and Sarukui were the types not to care.

Konoha might've actually cared, but he had nothing to worry about. Like Akaashi, he had nice features.

And Akaashi, like Komi and Sarukui, just didn't care.

But sometimes Onaga found his eyes would search for Fukurodani's remaining starter, and he began to have some hope that maybe all was not lost in this world, because there was Washio Tatsuki, another guy just like him. Whenever Onaga thought that, of course, he internally apologized to his senior for indirectly calling him ugly, but that wasn't the case, not truly. Washio just had a harsh face like his, and a nose even straighter than his own. Granted, Washio didn't even bother trying to smile—he always walked around with that gruff expression on his face. But he didn't seem to let his face be a problem for him.

So Onaga admired him, and maybe he'd decided he had a favorite senpai.

* * *

Washio was rather relieved when someone like Onaga joined the team and even became a regular. Not that he'd ever voice this opinion—heavens no, otherwise Konoha would be all over him for being as vain as most of the girls in their school—but nevertheless, it was nice. Whereas before, Washio had always stepped onto the court, in front of the blazing lights with some trepidation, now he felt reassured. His face had made kids cry before, and he'd always gotten the feeling that the audience faced him with similar reactions during games. But now…

Now there was another plain fellow on the team. Another…unhandsome guy. Another regular guy.

"Practice is over. Stop spacing out," Konoha scolded him after their team had lost yet again to the Bokuto–Akaashi combo. Konoha tossed him a towel and waited with him while the other players began to trickle out of the main gym.

Washio nodded his thanks, his eyes following the others as he dried his face. He had never understood why Coach Yamiji rarely split Bokuto and Akaashi up—those two were amazing on their own, but they were incredible together. Sarukui's receives weren't always quiet, but he was reliable, and his attacks reminded Washio of Bokuto's. Luckily for Washio, he'd had Konoha and Komi on his side today, but even they rather outshone the rest. It wasn't until Washio's eyes landed on Onaga for a second that he felt the least bit at ease.

"Are you smiling?" Konoha teased.

Ah, right. He had an audience right now. Washio internally sighed and shook his head. "No," he fibbed.

Konoha openly grinned at Onaga and waved their kouhai off. "Ah, he seems like a good, honest kid."

"He was on the losing side today."

"He's usually on our team."

"But to lose all the time…it can't be good for his confidence."

Konoha's golden eyes sauntered back over to Washio. "You're talkative today."

Washio's shoulders sagged. Sometimes he didn't quite understand how friendship with Konoha worked. Were you supposed to be as sharp as him socially? Were comebacks allowed? When was Konoha joking or teasing as opposed to asking a legitimate question?

At least Konoha didn't pester him for the moment. He patted Washio on the shoulder instead. "It's not a bad thing, Washio. The more, the merrier, right?" He turned but kept talking over his shoulder. "We've got a thing or two to teach little Omonaga, anyway."

_It's "Onaga,"_ Washio mentally corrected his friend, but he just heaved an audible sigh and exited the gym, as well.

* * *

_It's "Onaga,"_ Onaga thought dismally as the announcer finished introducing the Fukurodani members. The mistake was enough to calm his jitters at playing Nationals in his very first year on the volleyball team.

_It's "Onaga,"_ he thought after he made some fantastic blocks against Karasuno's spikers and the Fukurodani fans began to cheer in the gymnasium. Of course they were saying "Omonaga."

_It's "Onaga,"_ he thought in passing as they shook the hands of Karasuno's players before the awards ceremony. Both teams would be getting awards, but Fukurodani's would be for second place.

"It's 'Onaga,'" Washio reminded their teammates as they went out as a group to eat and Bokuto tried to cheer everyone up, saying that they'd at least reached this far.

Onaga smiled gratefully at his senior, and he even sat beside him as they ate. They dined in relative silence while Konoha and Komi tried to get Bokuto to shut up in light of their loss, and Onaga felt a sliver of comfort that he hadn't in…forever. "Thank you, Washio-senpai," he said, the only bit of conversation between the two of them.

Or, at least, it had been up until that point. But, with one simple display of gratitude, Onaga had opened the door for a genuine friendship.

* * *

Washio had never really seen Onaga converse much with anyone at club, so he'd always thought that perhaps the kid was simply a quiet one. Nothing quite on Akaashi's level, but still quiet nevertheless. But that one conversation after their loss to Karasuno? It had been the gateway.

It wasn't to say that they divulged every single secret and thought to each other. Washio would still say that Konoha probably knew him best out of all of them, because Konoha had befriended Washio of his own accord back in first year and had inserted himself into the older boy's life just because.

But there was an unspoken understanding as to why Washio and Onaga got along. It was as if they both knew they were kindred spirits for that vain, unremarkable reason. But that was okay. They could exist as each other's quiet ally.

Onaga didn't have to know that Washio had no solid plans for his future. Onaga didn't have to know that Washio would just as soon let his parents set up an arranged marriage for him. Onaga didn't have to know that Washio wouldn't mind reliving his third year of high school over and over again, pausing at this point in his life…this point which he thought might be the best.

Onaga instead could know that Washio's favorite hiding place was by the reference books in the school library, that Washio never used emojis in texts, that Washio's trick to dampening the intensity of Bokuto's spikes was to lock his wrists when receiving the blow. His favorite color. The route he ran to school. His least favorite book. Why no one brought up the topic of vegetarianism with both him and Konoha in the same room (so sue Washio for continuing to eat fish).

Some things were silly. Some things were stuff that Konoha knew. Others were things the other third years had witnessed. But having the chance to choose which stories he shared with Onaga—it gave Washio a sense of control over his life which, outside of class and club, Washio had begun to question he even had.

And then he graduated.

* * *

"Onaga-kun. Please pay attention," Akaashi said as practice began.

Onaga had to stow his phone, ignoring the chime as he silenced it. He wanted to read the email; texts from Washio were often short and awkward, but the lengthy emails were always a treat, especially now that Onaga was well into his second year and thus well into this time away from Washio.

Akaashi tipped his head in thanks and guided the team through the day's expected routine. He made a good captain…but Onaga couldn't focus on him entirely.

Onaga's mind was elsewhere, and for that he apologized internally to his new captain. It wasn't that Onaga had no friends whatsoever—the volleyball club had given him a home at Fukurodani—but there was something missing with the seniors gone. Of course Onaga wanted to be a second year and, next year, be in his final year. But there was something about losing his quiet ally, his…closest friend.

A comforting, familiar, plain face.

The texts and emails were nice distractions from school, but they weren't a face. And, as time went on, the emails became shorter and then the emails became only texts. Even then, the texts were few and far between.

Until, one day, Onaga found himself back at square one. It was just him, "Omonaga-kun," playing as a middle blocker for the team and learning to smile when he didn't really mean it.

A brief bout of friendship had been nice, but that was all it had been.

Brief.

* * *

The following year, Washio's uncertainties finally bled into his academic life, and his worries for future plans changed into worries about even finishing university. Smart as he was, he didn't know what to do.

An employer came recruiting on Washio's campus, and Washio arranged to interview with the business. They seemed impressed with him.

So Washio figured that maybe this would be his next bit of luck.

(And internally he apologized to Onaga for letting the luck that was their meeting dwindle into nothing but a memory.)

* * *

In Onaga's third year, he became captain. It felt somewhat like a "Well, who else makes sense?" decision, but Onaga was happy for the chance regardless. Even though things were less intense after Bokuto as captain and even Akaashi as captain, Onaga was glad for the opportunity. It was something that looked decent on his transcript, after all.

And wasn't that the point? To do well in school and have a decent transcript to get into a nice university? To find a solid job?

And Onaga did all of that. He graduated towards the top of his class, he got into a good university (not Washio's, even though Onaga wouldn't have known that Washio had dropped out anyway, because the communication had stopped), and he worked hard and rather mindlessly for four years until adulthood came knocking on his door and he graduated and started the job search…

He did his own thing and carved out his own path. His parents were proud of him, and his mother reassured him that things would work out for him. "And that goes hand-in-hand with putting yourself to good use," she reminded him with that motherly, knowing smile of hers.

For a brief time, Onaga didn't think there was more to her words. And then…

Then he met Amuro in his department at his first job, and Onaga thought back to when his mother had first told him to put something to good use—to put his face to good use. And she was right.

Some women found a face like his to be very attractive.

* * *

Washio…had been down this path before. But he hadn't thought he'd let it get this far. Ever.

Drinking parties after a long week at work were the norm in the business world, and Washio had learned early on that he could hold his liquor well. So he often joined his coworkers when the time came to alleviate some stress, and to Washio it was almost like having friends.

Still, that night was a recipe for disaster. It was a combination of the booze and the easy atmosphere and having to read Konoha's sappy texts about successfully having convinced Shirofuku to give him a fifth chance, and Washio's eyes sidled over the other bodies in the room, very much in the same manner as he used to do in high school.

The only thing was, this time a pair of eyes looked back.

The stare jolted Washio when he realized the person was staring right back at him and not just observing the room as he was doing. And he was startled when the coworker got to his feet and came and sat beside Washio on purpose. And he was beyond confused when this man who looked like a cross between Konoha and Sarukui, all sharp eyes and permanent smiles, started chatting with him.

No, not chatting with him…chatting him _up_.

Washio wasn't stupid; he never had been. But the alcohol was fuzzing his mind a tad, so he was a little slow on the uptake that night. Still, it was clear to him that this guy was hitting on him, and so Washio finally had his first wonder if maybe his aesthetic _did_ attract people…just a different crowd.

(The next morning, after the coworker had left Washio's apartment and his number on Washio's kitchen counter, Washio's conscience chided him in spite of his hangover-addled mind. It wasn't a _different_ crowd. It was the _same_ crowd.)

* * *

Unbeknownst to Onaga, three months after Washio's self-discovery, Onaga joined Washio's company.

They didn't cross paths right away. Washio was in the data department, Onaga accounting. Besides, Onaga had other things to think about. And, unfortunately, the unsavory things wouldn't leave him alone.

A year. A whole year. He'd been at his previous company for almost two, but he'd been with Amuro for a whole year. And he didn't understand how he'd managed it. She was— She was—

He sighed and shook his head at his desk. He _really_ needed to stop thinking about her.

That was when one of the other new recruits—what was his name? Takotsubo?—invited him out to a drinking party. "Well, it's the senpai's treat," the good-looking guy told Onaga, "but it's to celebrate us new hires." He grinned and smacked Onaga on the back playfully, as if they were already fast friends. "So? What do you say?"

Onaga pursed his lips, weighed his options, and gave in. He knew he needed the break.

The following night, Onaga trailed the group with Takotsubo. The workers arrived at a local bar, apparently one they frequented since the staff seemed to know all of the senior members, and they took over one of the restaurant's larger rooms, sitting lazily around the room's perimeter and drinking and eating and making merry.

It was…odd. Onaga was reminded of his time early on in club back at Fukurodani, when everyone else seemed to know each other clearly and he was the brand-new baby bird who'd just hatched in the nest. Takotsubo meshed well with anyone who would talk to him, and Washio was having a very concentrated discussion with a dark-haired man by the doorway—

Onaga blinked. "Washio-senpai?!" he blurted, unable to help himself.

The din ensured that barely anyone heard him. Yet Washio turned his head and spotted him in the corner nearest the door.

Was it Onaga's imagination, or did Washio pale for a fraction of a section? Suddenly Onaga regretted having come tonight.

Washio blinked and tore his attention away from Onaga, and he spoke again to his companion at the door. The other man frowned and sighed and settled Washio with a look, but eventually he left.

Onaga involuntarily smiled. He thought Washio was going to join him, and Onaga brightened at the prospect of catching up with, frankly, the one person he'd really considered a friend ages ago.

Alas, that did not happen. Washio returned to his spot at the table to finish eating, but he left shortly after that. Not even so much as a word or a glance did he spare to send Onaga's way.

As the disappointing night finished out, Onaga sank into his only beer for the night, and not even Takotsubo could make him believe that coming here was better than having not.

* * *

He spent the weekend debating.

First, Washio wondered if it had been a good idea to turn down Mitsuru, the bar's waiter who'd been flirting with him for three weeks. Washio scrunched up his nose at the thought, and he figured that was his answer. Mitsuru was attractive though a bit young, and he likely had no idea that Washio, though new to this way of life, wasn't looking for a relationship.

Second, Washio mused that his current way of trying out this new experience probably wasn't the right way to go about things. Konoha definitely seemed the type to have one-night stands, not him. And yet, here they were, Washio coming to be known for his limited-time availability and Konoha actually making things work with Shirofuku. A small part of Washio wanted to ask his friend how it worked, falling in love and monogamy and all that. Then again, Konoha would know something was up, and Washio wasn't sure he wanted to share his newfound changes with his old-time friend.

Third…

Washio arrived to work early on Monday morning, and he paced beside his desk before the others in the data center got there. His third debate had occurred to him Saturday morning and still was heckling him even now, because he had yet to make up his mind.

Third, he was unsure about becoming chummy with Onaga again.

No, "chummy" wasn't the right word… "Friendly." Washio even said the word aloud, tasting it on his tongue in the relative silence of the office. The word sounded and felt right, although he knew that his friendship with Onaga had been different from his friendship with Konoha. He stopped pacing and thought back to what it was that had ignited their alliance. They were unhandsome men…but Washio sighed at himself, knowing he didn't care much about his vanity anymore.

He rummaged in his pocket and took out his phone, glancing at his reflection in the phone's shiny, black surface. He looked much the same as he had years ago, though maybe a bit older at the eyes.

Pocketing the device, he thought back to the recent welcoming party. He hadn't drunk much, so the details of the night weren't vague. And Onaga… Onaga's face was the same as ever, all round eyes and defined nose and wavering smile. So Onaga must be the same as ever, too. Washio knew then that he'd try again, and he'd rekindle their friendship.

Except Onaga had been friends with the old Washio, and he had no idea what Washio was like now.

That stray thought plagued Washio throughout the morning, but he tried to rationalize it by telling himself that he hadn't changed _that_ much since the two owls had known each other. Only his romantic preferences had shifted, and he and Onaga had never talked about that stuff anyway.

Before he could change his mind, Washio's feet led him out of the data center at lunchtime, and he went and navigated the desks of the accounting department. There were so many stacks of paper, books, and assorted electronics and other instruments that Washio had the impression of Datekou's Iron Wall. But those thoughts faded away when he found a familiar back hunched over a keyboard and calculator.

"Onaga."

The younger man jumped at the sound of his name, and Washio pressed his lips together in a thin line to keep from chuckling at the scene. Onaga glanced over his shoulder, saw that it was Washio, and froze.

A part of Washio had been expecting that, and he didn't blame Onaga, since essentially he'd acted the same way at the party. "Sorry. Hope I'm not interrupting."

Onaga glimpsed at his computer screen before turning away from his console in his chair. He looked up at Washio. "No, I'm at a good stopping point. Um… Can I help you with something, Washio-senpai?"

Washio hadn't thought this far ahead. He pointed to his watch. "Could we talk?"

Onaga frowned and shrugged, but at least he followed Washio out to the second-floor lobby of their office building. His pace was hesitant beside Washio, so he lingered behind the older man by one step. Regardless, he spoke up first. "I didn't mean to interrupt you at the party," he offered by way of an apology.

"Interrupt?" Oh. Right. Mitsuru. Washio shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

Washio took a good, long look at the taller man. Sometimes he forgot what it was like to look up to someone who had several inches on him. He nodded. "I should apologize. I didn't intend to brush you off then." He frowned and scratched the back of his head. "I was surprised to see you there—to see you _here_. So you just started?"

"Ah, yes… I needed a change of scenery from my old workplace." He smiled, but the action seemed strained to Washio.

"Something happen?" Washio asked without meaning to, because he didn't want to pry. Maybe he'd had that right once upon a time, but that had been a long time ago.

Yet, perhaps to both their surprises, Onaga meekly nodded. "It's…a long story."

Washio paused and raised his eyebrows slightly. "Then we should eat first."

And Washio was treated to a sight he'd never seen before: a genuine, relieved smile on Onaga Wataru's plain but homey face.

* * *

"Onaga, lunch?" Takotsubo asked his coworker.

"Oh, sorry. I've got plans." Onaga checked his phone and saw the text from Washio, and he grinned to himself.

Takotsubo grumbled under his breath. "You always say that. Day in, day out…"

"It's just an old senpai from high school." Onaga paused before slipping on his suit jacket. "An old friend," he amended.

"A _female_ senpai?" his colleague guessed, and he waggled his eyebrows.

"No. He's someone I used to play volleyball with."

"Oh. Well, I guess it can't be helped, then." Takotsubo pointed at him. "But next time, don't turn me down. Or it'll be your treat, not mine."

Onaga motioned his thanks, but he didn't make any promises. And he knew exactly why, when he located Washio in the chairs by the fire exit in the second-floor lobby. Onaga wasn't an especially picky person, but something told him that he'd prefer to hang out with Washio than with Takotsubo. Actually, it was more than that. He knew he'd just prefer to spend time with Washio than with the others in general. He owned up to that, even, when he joined Washio.

Washio's response? He shook his head, but there was a pleased gleam in his eyes at Onaga's words. "You should make other friends," the older man suggested gently.

"I have other friends."

Washio stared at him.

"…okay, okay, I'll try."

The other man nodded. He patted his jacket until he found what he was looking for in his shirt pocket, and he withdrew the small package. "Mind if we eat outside?"

"Sure."

The two of them wandered outside, not far from the building's main doors, and Onaga dug in to his handmade obento while Washio lit a cigarette downwind of him. At first, Onaga had been a little stunned to discover this part of Washio, because it clashed with the memory he had of his health-conscious senpai, and Washio had mistaken his reaction for disliking smokers. But Onaga had assured him that wasn't the case, so Washio every now and then lit up while they spent time together during the workday.

And Onaga actually enjoyed those moments. They'd spent a lot of time catching up at first, and Onaga was glad to learn that there was still so much of Washio that he knew. The Washio who was quick to correct others only when absolutely necessary. The Washio who still had a hard time conveying much of anything but his awkwardness when trying to send a text. The Washio who continued to play the straight man to Konoha's funny man. But then there were these moments.

A part of Washio didn't believe Onaga being okay with the smoking, and that part always made Washio sit downwind of him so Onaga didn't have to breathe any of that in. But Onaga's eyes were always drawn to Washio when he took out his lighter and cupped the end of the cigarette, his attention taken away from his compatriot, his focus solely on keeping the flame close, regardless of whether there was a wind, his hands curved around the fire, hands that Onaga was accustomed to seeing straightened in anticipation of a block, eyes narrowed, eyes that Onaga had used to glimpse always zeroed in on Bokuto's spikes.

Ah, it struck Onaga. Washio really looked the same, except for his eyes. His eyes were older.

Washio met his eyes then, and there was a question in them.

"It's nothing," Onaga insisted. He pointed to his lunch with his chopsticks. "I'll save you some broccoli again."

Washio opened his mouth to comment but closed it and blew a smidge of smoke out of the left corner of his mouth, again pleased. It wasn't the first time Onaga had made the offer. And it wouldn't be the last. The thing was, try as Onaga might to follow Washio's advice and "make friends," it wasn't the same as it'd been in high school, where getting along with your teammates was a must to make things work.

But, with the two of them, sliding back into their previous roles in each other's life was a simple effort, because they were like-minded. Two peas in a pod. Washio could relax around Onaga, and Onaga could relax around Washio. And, Onaga realized during another lunchtime spent admiring Washio's strong profile, it had been years since he'd felt that comfortable around anyone.

* * *

"On your way out again?" Okabe, one of Washio's colleagues in the data center, asked him.

"Lunch," Washio informed him.

Okabe whistled and watched him over the rims of his brown glasses frames. He swung a little, side to side, in his chair, and he rolled over to Washio before the latter escaped to meet with Onaga. Worse still, Okabe lowered his voice. "Hey, Tatsuki… You aren't coming by the bars as often."

Washio's nose rankled at Okabe's familiarity, but it was one he had to allow, since he'd made the poor choice of sleeping with him once, and now Okabe considered himself Washio's token Gay Friend. "I haven't felt like it," he mumbled, and he ran a hand through his hair brusquely, hoping Okabe wouldn't harp on the subject, not here, not at work.

And Okabe didn't. But— "Well, you _should_ feel like it. I've seen a lot that are your type coming by, but the pretty ones get snatched up fast."

The gruff man pretended not to have heard him, and he headed out to meet Onaga. Frankly, if it'd been Konoha cajoling him, he would've retorted a bit, but he didn't feel like getting something started with Okabe. Not again, at least.

Still, he mused as he smoked and watched Onaga eat and chatter about a recent care package his mother had sent him, he knew he'd told Okabe the truth. Somehow, he felt all right these days, with just work, just being around Onaga during these shared lunches, just the cheery texts from Onaga on the odd evening, just the sappy emails from Konoha waxing poetic about his longtime romance. He didn't feel the need to go looking for anyone at company drinking parties. He didn't feel the need to act as Okabe's wingman or to have Okabe act as his at the gay bars.

Washio blinked, coming to his senses when he realized Onaga had stopped talking. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"The food." Onaga elaborated when it was clear Washio was behind by several paragraphs. "The food Mom sent. It's too much, and she sent a bunch of vegetables. I wanted to know if you wanted to come over tomorrow night. We could do hotpot."

"I'm your first choice to have over?"

"Of course. Why not?"

Washio narrowed his eyes, stray thoughts of Onaga being a good catch and a good kid mixing in his head. He looked away, asking, "Have you ever cooked for anyone else?"

An uneasy, short quiet settled between them while Onaga prodded a heap of seasoned rice in his lunchbox. "For a time," the younger man finally answered. His voice was soft, and Washio had to face him to make sure he'd caught Onaga's response. And what he saw made him unsettled: Onaga, face down, eyes sloping, brow drawn in a bit angrily, lips pinned so firmly one against the other that the straight line was bent in a frown, the subtle clench of his jaw, and the obvious grip on his lunchbox. "But it was a while ago," Onaga said dismissively, breaking Washio's concentration on the forlorn figure. He mustered a smile.

"That bad?"

Onaga's smile faltered, and he nodded. He glanced at his lunch before passing the food to Washio and insisting he finish it instead. "I was with her for just over a year. She was kind of a high-class woman, not someone I thought I'd go for, but we worked in the same department at my old company and something clicked between us and…" He made another face, his eyes darkening at the memories. "Towards the end of things, we were thinking completely differently—I thought I might marry her, and she turned on me."

Oh. That _was_ bad. "In what way?" Washio asked as he chewed on clumps of rice, his cigarette put out and long forgotten.

"She started saying a lot of hurtful things, mostly about my appearance, albeit coming out and calling me ugly. So I ended it and decided to look for work elsewhere. I liked it there."

Washio frowned, too. "That's… Well, that's more than a shame. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not." And, when he smiled this time, eyes half open and soft, his lips transitioning gently upward from his frown, Onaga no doubt was telling the truth, so Washio believed him.

It was just hard to believe anyone could treat someone like Onaga so wrongly if they knew him well at all.

"Ah, you really like the rice, huh?" Onaga asked, again plucking Washio from his thoughts. He pointed to wear there was perhaps a bite or two left of the food and chuckled.

"It's good," Washio confessed, and he passed the box back to Onaga, ignoring but aware of their fingers brushing when Onaga took it back.

"I'll take that as confirmation for dinner tomorrow night, then. Remember—hotpot!" Onaga chuckled again, more so to himself than at what he'd said, and he went off again, chattering about all the ingredients his mother had sent and what he'd do with them and how he knew to take Washio's being a vegetarian into account and so on and so forth.

So Washio returned to his quiet observation of the younger man, this time without using the excuse of absentmindedly smoking to explain why his eyes were on him. Even if asked, Washio wouldn't explain the real reason, at least, not yet. But he was fairly certain after then and after Onaga opening up that it wasn't just about liking being around Onaga but genuinely liking him. And, Washio thought, a little smugly as he thought of Onaga's ex's loss, genuinely liking his face, too.

* * *

Onaga didn't tell Washio that he'd given up on his efforts to befriend others in the accounting department, but he was glad Takotsubo had left him alone, to be honest. Especially when Onaga caught himself humming as the following day wound down and he knew what was coming that evening.

He figured the hotpot that night was probably only half of the reason. A big part of his good mood, he knew, was attributed to talking about his bad breakup with Amuro. It wasn't that he hadn't talked about it before—no, he told his parents everything, so they knew about her—but he hadn't confessed _everything_ about her, and that was one thing about Washio. It wasn't that Onaga felt compelled to bare his heart and soul to the other man, but he knew that he _could_ if he wanted to, without fear of anything. And admitting to having been verbally abused had been a pretty big step for Onaga, especially considering it'd been about his sore spot.

That line of thought gave Onaga pause, and he stopped tidying up his apartment after work and caught his appearance in his television's screen since the object was off. Old blue jeans, new red sweatshirt, same old tan face—but Onaga found that, for the first time in his life, he didn't fret about the last item. Not a single bit.

His doorbell rang, and Onaga yelped, having lost track of time. He groaned about not having vacuumed, but he shoved the last few miscellaneous items into inconspicuous corners and decided things didn't look _too_ bad, so he went to let Washio inside.

Washio held up a small plastic bag. "I couldn't decide on what to get, so I got one of everything."

"You didn't have to," Onaga said, taking it from him while the other toed his shoes off, and he chuckled when he saw that Washio _actually_ _meant_ one of everything—there was one beer, a soda, a few different flavored milks, some juices. "I appreciate the thought, though."

Washio surveyed the small apartment, making Onaga fidgety, and the latter was about to speak up when Washio chose a different topic. "You didn't start yet?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, I didn't have the time." He gestured to the tiny living room. "Please, take a seat, and I'll get things prepped."

Washio didn't respond to that, nor did he make a move to make himself comfortable in front of the TV. Instead, he followed Onaga to the kitchenette and insisted on helping.

Onaga tried telling him "no," but he quickly gave up on that idea when his senpai stayed put, as if his kitchen needed a middle blocker. So he had Washio rinse and clean the vegetables while he made the broth.

It was a bit tough, having two of them working there because, while the kitchen was the largest part of the apartment aside from his room, it was still small. It was hard to avoid bumping into each other, but they managed okay.

Onaga's mind wandered then, and he realized it wouldn't have been all that bad to bump literally into Washio. He got the sense that, however large or small his sphere of personal space might be, he wouldn't be that bothered if Washio entered it. His eyes drifted to the other man, and he was struck by the thought that Washio rather looked the same as he remembered him. And yet…

The Washio in his memories was being replaced with this one. Eighteen-year-old Washio had been taller, larger to sixteen-year-old Onaga. But now, going on almost eight years since they'd last seen in each other in person, Onaga noticed what details had changed. He'd gained a few more inches on the older man in the last two years of high school, and Washio's figure, well outlined by his fitted black shirt, was thinner than Onaga recalled, less gruff and more borderline delicate. His features, too, they weren't as severe anymore. His eyes were softer, and his mouth was, too, Onaga supposed, since it was forever on the verge of breaking Washio character and smiling. Onaga wondered what he'd do if he saw Washio's smile. Kiss it, probably.

He very nearly dropped the ladle into the pot of broth at that. _Kiss_? _Washio_?! What was he thinking?! There were _many_ things wrong with that scenario. This had to be him just looking for love in all the wrong places since he was rather freshly (well, it'd been several months now) out of his first serious relationship. Besides, switching from women to men so suddenly? And his senpai, no less. This confusion stood to hurt him as well as Washio if he took it seriously, so he dismissed it as a random notion.

Feeling guilty, he looked at Washio, brow furrowed and frowning. Washio turned his head and stared back, quirking one eyebrow slightly, as if asking "Did I do something wrong?"

Onaga shook his head. "Sorry. Just daydreaming," he muttered, and he focused on the broth and added more things than necessary to the liquid. Still, with each ingredient added, it was an action that kept him busy and made Washio not pursue the obvious discomfort on his kouhai's face.

Once the various components were ready, the men carried everything out to the living room. Onaga adjusted the electric cooktop on the low table that was often dinner table and desk for him, and he and Washio tossed things in. It was kind of humorous, since Washio was like him in this regard, adding whatever he wanted, whenever, and Onaga was glad they were on the same wavelength. Onaga had had to grow up with family scolding him over some of his eating habits, so not having to deal with that for once was refreshing.

They sat on either side of one of the corners opposite the TV, Washio to Onaga's left, and watched whatever came onscreen with halfhearted attention. Washio, to Onaga's delight, really enjoyed the food. "You can have some of mine," Onaga reminded him, since he'd fished out a few more vegetables than intended.

Shit. There it was—that glimmer, childlike and innocent and so, _so_ un-Washio, in his eyes. He happily leaned over and plucked a piece of broccoli and a carrot at the same time from Onaga's dish, not even apologizing for half leaning over Onaga's arm for it.

And Onaga, with Washio that close, thought back to that unnerving moment ten minutes ago, and he considered it slightly more earnestly. He imagined what would happen if he followed through with a kiss.

Rather, he tried. He couldn't picture them in scenes like those in the romance movies his mother loved, but he at least figured it'd be different from kissing Amuro. Rougher. Strange. Or maybe…maybe sweet.

Their meal evaporated, and Washio stayed longer than Onaga thought he would, talking little and not really watching TV but seemingly enjoying being in Onaga's presence nevertheless. He crossed his arms atop the table and leaned on them, relaxed, his defenses clearly decreasing. Happy, perhaps.

Onaga smiled gently to himself and finally pulled his eyes from the other man for good that night, relaxing in his presence and watching TV, too.

He decided it'd be sweet. Undeniably sweet.

* * *

To act or not to act. It was a dilemma Washio had never really encountered before. Then again, Washio had never really considered a romantic relationship before, either.

Following his first visit to eat dinner at Onaga's, Washio had been over again, and again, and again. It was at least a weekly invitation, and sometimes he'd go over twice in a week. For food, for drinks, sometimes just listening to Onaga vent a little about some part of work—whatever opportunity came his way, Washio seized it.

Except for the obvious.

For a while now, he'd been wondering if Onaga was growing comfortable around him in a more-than-friendly manner and, ever since Washio had acknowledged to himself that he seemed to have a crush on the younger man, Washio had decided that wasn't the worst thing in the world. In fact, sometimes it made going over to Onaga's exciting, because he'd for certain witnessed a different kind of gaze aimed at him on the odd occasion. And Washio had had enough partners to have learned what that kind of look meant.

Still… Washio didn't want to put Onaga in the same category as his one-time, nighttime companions. Those instances were different—at best, you knew each other's first names or last names only, and it was over the second the sun started crawling its way into the sky.

But Onaga? It made a difference, knowing his full name and what he was like at most times of the day and a few at night, knowing that Onaga was an early bird and had a hard time staying up too late the night before, knowing that Onaga got up early mainly just to make his lunch for the day and pack extra for Washio, that Onaga would head inside before the end of their lunch break to clean up his bento so he'd save himself some of the work later, that Onaga ended his workday precisely as outlined in his contract and took the train partway home and walked the rest, sometimes because of a sale at the market but mostly because he liked getting the exercise in and honestly because he loved the way the city looked in the early evening.

Everything about that image, Washio didn't want to harm by changing the dynamics of their relationship. But there was also no denying things had changed already to some length, and all it took was one of those glances from Onaga to remind him of that. And Washio was sorely tempted to cave as time went on. So Washio questioned his conscience, and Konoha answered on the fourth ring.

"Eh? Washio? You're actually _calling_ me?" the blond asked.

The gruff man huffed. At least he knew to expect that reaction, since they'd fallen into the habit of sporadic texts and emails after Fukurodani. "Yes," he answered tersely.

He could practically hear the grin on Konoha's face. "Straight to the point as ever. What can I do for you? Not that I don't appreciate the call, but isn't it a bit early for you? You normally ignore my texts this early in the evening. I always figured you were out and about, strutting your stuff."

Good grief. Konoha's vocabulary made Washio pull a face. "'Strutting'?" he echoed.

"Well, yeah. You're a twenty-something guy living on his own in the city. Don't you get lonely?"

He hadn't considered that before. Could that be why it'd been so easy to fall into his current way of life? Although, the more he dwelled on it, the more he realized how inaccurate it was to call it "current." He hadn't slept with anyone in ages.

His mind's eye flashed to his most recent stay at Onaga's three nights ago and how he could've sworn it was another time his kouhai was debating making a move. _…fuck_ , he thought, and he was glad to be home alone with no one to witness the uncharacteristic flush blooming on his face and running down his neck. He could see it happening in the reflection of the window in the living room.

"I don't get lonely," Washio finally lied, but he clearly had done a poor job, since Konoha snickered.

"Sure, you don't. But, that's what best friends are for, right? So. What's on your mind?"

Washio opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped for a second. It was heartening to hear Konoha say that nonchalantly, and a part of Washio knew that Konoha was right. Maybe that was what being best friends meant—not being your favorite friend or top friend but being the one who knew you best.

Well, Onaga knew him best, really, but Washio refused to put him and Konoha in the same category. He didn't want that. He wanted _more_ than that.

He came back to his senses. "I… I was curious."

"About what?"

"How you…knew how to act when it came to Shirofuku."

Konoha's laugh was a bark, and he spluttered to correct his friend. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait—trust me, I _did not_ know how to act with Yukie. While she and I agreed that a lot of Bokuto's antics were incredibly stupid, that wasn't much of a bond we had, because—and be honest—we _all_ knew that about him and teased him about it. But when she wasn't wailing on Bokuto for forgetting to return loaned items, be they money or books or homework, I got the brunt of that, too. The only difference was that I held on to her stuff. I never misplaced it. That just gave me extra time to talk with her."

Washio fought down the urge to call him an idiot. "You _pretended_ to forget her things?"

"So sue me. I was an elementary school kid in a high schooler's body." Konoha sighed dramatically. "The effect eventually wore off, though, and I lost my touch. I also lost my cool when she point-blank told me one day to just ask her out instead of holding on to her dictionary for two weeks." He groaned, and then he whispered, "Washio. I literally _ran away_ when she told me that." His voice came out as a squeak.

The dark-haired man snorted and covered it with a cough, though he bet Konoha had heard him anyway. But this was turning out to be a really useless advice session. "I see," he said, and Konoha could translate the Washio language and know that meant "Go on."

"It freaked me out that technically she made the first move, but I took the hint. And I've had to retake that hint over and over, over the years," he finished with another sigh. He paused for a while, making Washio wonder if the line had gone dead, but then he added, "But I think I've got it right now. And I took a recent hint."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." His voice was gentle—very Konoha and yet not all at once. "Washio. I'm gonna propose."

Washio blinked. He'd…not been expecting that. And that threw him off, so he bumbled his way through the rest of their conversation in a hurry to end it. But it was all he could think about in the coming week.

Was that the ultimate goal? Marriage, and a family? And, once you had it, you were declared a victor of love? But those things didn't happen—or didn't happen easily—for people like Washio. So he kept returning to Konoha's words from the start.

It had to be the loneliness. That had to be the answer. It was loneliness, not love, that drove a person to do brainless things. Like stealing items from the girl you liked. Like playing cat-and-mouse with the kouhai you liked.

Like sitting beside said kouhai at the next company drinking party. Which was exactly what Washio did.

It was the party to "celebrate the mild winter" which had just started, but truly that was an excuse for everyone to go out and warm up internally as well as externally, especially after the completion of a hectic project. But everything was looking bright, for the company, for its workers.

Washio paid Okabe no mind went he split from his department colleagues and settled down beside Onaga by the door. Vaguely it occurred to Washio that Onaga had been in the same location when they'd first found each other at the company, and the memory nearly pulled a smile out of him.

But where the memory couldn't pull the smile out of him, chatting with Onaga did, as did the promise for another hotpot since his family had sent too much food once again.

Onaga gaped at him.

"What?" Washio asked. He leaned in closer to hear Onaga's response.

"N-Nothing! I just— You just— Well—" He sighed, and his breath was humid on the side of Washio's cheek. "Never mind." And he took a big gulp of his drink, which he'd previously only been sipping.

Washio put his empty glass—was it his second or third?—down on the table and turned to face Onaga more fully. "No. Onaga, what?"

He must've had two or three, because Washio's senses were screwing with him. There was no way Onaga's dark eyes were boring into him the way they were. "I really like your smile," he said boldly, cupping his mouth around the older man's ear to make sure he'd be heard.

Their proximity fogged Washio's mind, and the arm on which he was leaning went weak. But he kept himself upright well enough, even if his hand did find its way to Onaga's thigh.

Their eyes darted to the intimacy. Then they locked eyes, frozen.

Washio gave Onaga's thigh a squeeze.

Just like that, they thawed.

What followed was a whirlwind of motions: Onaga grabbing his wrist and hauling him up, making apologies to the others, grabbing their things, looking through the pockets of Washio's jacket to find his home address while waiting for the taxi. Riding in the taxi with his head against Onaga's shoulder while the winter air from the cracked back window sobered him up some. Getting home. The lights increasing the pounding headache developing behind his eyes. Hitting the lights and welcoming the darkness once again. Undoing his tie and feeling as if he could breathe again.

Asking Onaga to wait, to stay.

Them freezing again.

And seeing Onaga's self-control be the only one to exit the apartment that night.

Between the breaths, the pants, the sweat, Washio's head throbbed with clarity. It had to be the loneliness. That had to be the answer. It was loneliness, not love, that drove a person to do brainless things.

…no, that was unfair, that wasn't correct. Onaga moved and held Washio with too much care for his brain to be absent, for his heart not to be in it—for his heart not to be offered up in the hand that closed over Washio's.

Ah. Maybe love partially was responsible after all.

* * *

The first sound he made the next morning was a quiet groan.

It wasn't at his predicament—that would come a minute later—but at the pain in his head. It urged Onaga to sit up in bed and gingerly lift his legs off the bed so he could plant his feet on the floor. He had his boxers on, but his bare legs were cold, so he clutched the sheet in his left hand to keep them covered and held his head with the other. He hunched over, hoping that gravity might pull the hangover directly from his head, but, alas, no such luck. Then he heard the deep exhalation of the bed's other occupant, and his lack of warmth and pain seemed like mere trifles then.

Onaga turned carefully and registered with his own eyes his worst fears. Washio remained sound asleep on the side of the bed facing the wall with the window, and light peeked through the flimsy curtains and fell, scattered, over his form, which was in a similar state of undress as Onaga's—except, Onaga glimpsed when the older man shifted in his sleep, Washio had nothing on whatsoever. Onaga quickly tore his eyes away.

Damn. Had they—? For real—? Last night—? Onaga's head throbbed again, but the memories came to the forefront of his mind, brilliantly and vividly. This was one hangover that refused to let him forget everything, or even _anything_.

Their first kiss—sloppy, a hint of alcohol, cold noses bumping.

Washio's hands warming as he quickly helped Onaga undress.

The hastily made preparations and the absence of acknowledging the possibility that maybe they, or at the very least Onaga, weren't ready for this kind of thing.

The fleeting thought of Onaga's that Washio seemed used to this.

The feeling that they'd both been waiting for this.

And, of course, falling asleep together. One arm of Washio's under his pillow, the other atop of the arm Onaga had settled around his waist. Onaga's face near the back of Washio's head, enjoying the warmth they'd created in the room, smiling to himself as Washio's hair tickled his cheek. His hair—just like so much else about Washio—was softer than it appeared.

Gods. They'd been drunk, but not drunk enough.

Onaga chewed on his bottom lip, panic washing over him. His eyes darted around the room and tried to ignore the details that marked it as Washio's while he spotted all—well, most—of his clothing, and he debated his chances of getting up from the bed without disturbing the other man.

"…Onaga."

So much for that.

The younger man faced him politely, his heart sinking to find Washio hadn't rolled over to face him. No, he was staring at the wall. "Yeah?"

Washio exhaled again, but it sounded more like a sigh this time. He didn't add anything.

Onaga could take a clue. He got up and started dressing as quickly as he could. He fumbled with his shirt buttons and had to redo a few of them, one twice, but he was almost presentable and figured his jacket and tie were not in the bedroom but maybe by the front door.

The entire time, Washio stayed put and said nothing, though Onaga gauged his body language. Washio said nothing, but that didn't mean he had nothing to say.

Still, Onaga wanted to try and put this behind them, even if this hadn't been entirely by accident, because Washio's statue impression was not giving him a good feeling. "Sorry, Washio-senpai," he blurted, flustered. A nervous laugh bubbled up in the back of his throat, but he fought it down. "We got a little crazy last night." Which was true…but what else to say? Of course there were hundreds if not thousands of possibilities, but Onaga doubted any of them would be anything but misinterpreted.

"Onaga," the other man repeated.

"Yes?"

"It's all right."

Oh. Onaga's face fell, and he was glad Washio wasn't looking at him. He'd thought… Well, he'd thought maybe Washio would offer him something a bit better than that. Instead, Washio was telling him it was fine to brush this off, act as if it'd never happened.

Onaga's heart cracked a little at that.

He pursed his lips and nodded, and the panic came back when Washio finally glanced at him over his shoulder. So he did the only thing he could think of and smiled without a word.

After all, sometimes a smile was a defense mechanism.

He pretended not to see the flash of concern in the other man's eyes, and he left the room then. He gathered the rest of his clothing, found his wallet and bag, and he waited by the door, taking the apartment in. The scary thing about his panic was that he wasn't really panicky at all, not when he looked around Washio's home and could spot details showing his insertion into Washio's life.

The books and a CD Onaga had loaned him? On top of the TV.

Onaga's personal recipe for Washio's favorite vegetable stir-fry, written on a scrap piece of paper? Pinned to the fridge door by a magnet.

The special bento he'd surprised Washio with one afternoon, since the older man was forever partaking in his lunch? Dark silver, the older man's favorite color—right there, on the kitchen counter, washed and ready for Onaga to fill it again.

Something else, too, was on the fridge, and Onaga felt a small victory, seeing one of their old team photos on the fridge, as well, by the handle. It made it easy for Onaga to skip over what the implications meant of Washio's ease at having spent the night with a man, because Onaga was so clearly on his mind—maybe in his heart, too.

But even if Onaga were comfy with the thought of intermingling their lives impossibly more, he knew that wasn't the real struggle, because they'd been fine friends before, and kind of something more. But now what were they?

Where would they go from here?

* * *

Where to go from here?

The drab musing kept bringing a grimace to Washio's face every time it surfaced in his head, and he liked to imagine it as a fly that he could swat away. Or maybe swat for good.

Washio was used to this kind of thing. Wasn't he? It'd been his experience that male relationships were almost always about the physical and little else. That, for a time, he thought made them great, especially if they lasted for only a night.

But now he sorely doubted that. He'd been the calm one days ago, when they'd woken up and Onaga unmistakably was on the verge of a panic attack. So Washio had said barely anything. And he couldn't, because, while Onaga had been panicky outwardly, Washio internally was a mess. And he figured only one of them at a time should have a breakdown, so he let Onaga handle that.

He didn't know what to do now. They hadn't had lunch together the past three days, and Washio figured tomorrow would be no different. There were no messages of any sort, either, and Washio was rather glad for that, because he didn't know how properly to respond.

Almost a week after their relations, they accidentally crossed paths in the halls at work, Washio listening to Okabe quietly squeal about his new boyfriend, Onaga walking by himself. Onaga almost met Washio's eyes, but the latter was childish and instinctively looked away.

Ah. Right. The other problem with being with anyone from work. You either saddled yourself with an Okabe, or you had to find a place to hide so as to avoid the other party. But where to hide?

Likely the better question was, why _bother_ to hide? They were two adult men. Unremarkable, everyday men. Did they really have to treat what had happened this way? Onaga seemed fine with ignoring it…but Washio couldn't bring himself to do the same.

Hmm. Unremarkable…plain. At home, mindlessly channel-surfing, Washio recalled what had caught his eye about Onaga to being with, back when Washio had been more concerned with his looks. And he remembered thinking that Onaga was the other regular guy on the team, another plain person, like him. And he remembered the times when his eyes would follow Onaga around and he'd smile, just genuinely amused by someone like the freshman. He recalled, too, Konoha's teasing, and Washio trying to deny smiling because of Onaga, but now…

Washio's face fell, and he dropped the remote. Oh, hell. Maybe he'd…always been charmed by the younger man?

He crossed his arms on the table and sank into them, knowing how much it made sense, whether true or not. He really needed to find a hiding place at work, he decided, and Konoha's knowing cackle echoed in his head.

* * *

It hurt, at first, the avoidance. But, after Christmas and New Year's, Onaga assumed it couldn't be helped. It wasn't as though he and Washio had really spoken about the two of them.

Still, it was habit to check his phone at lunchtime, to see if there was a surprise text reinstituting having lunch together. And Onaga also began to peek over his shoulder at midday, on the off chance that Washio came and found him as he had done that first time. But February threatened to arrive without a sign of the taciturn male.

Takotsubo tried to poke fun at him, that he'd been "dumped," but Onaga ignored him. Platonically or not, that hadn't been the case, and Onaga was smart enough and knew Washio well enough to know that. Washio avoided him, but he hadn't rejected him. Not yet.

But, while their company had several floors, it wasn't a large building. Onaga knew it would be too bold to go to Washio's apartment, but he could always brush it off as coincidence if he located Washio here at work and things didn't go well between them. But where would he go? Washio didn't eat lunch outside anymore, and Onaga never spotted him in the smoking room or out on the third-floor balcony, called the "open-air smoking room" by the employees. And he never seemed to be at his desk when Onaga popped his head into the data center. He thought to ask Washio's coworker, Okabe, but he didn't like the way the bespectacled man sized him up, so he turned and left, trying to come up with other places Washio might wander off to elsewhere in the building.

Of course, a part of Onaga's brain surmised that Okabe had read into the situation and that it was likely Okabe had been a bedfellow once upon a time of the lone wolf, but Onaga wanted to flush that history down the drain. If he could just meet and speak with Washio, then—hopefully—there'd be lone wolf no more. Lone wolf…

Of course. _Of course_! Onaga had known the whole time where to look; he just hadn't given it enough thought.

And he was correct. Down in the basement, he found Washio by himself in the reference room, and Onaga was so relieved he wanted to laugh. So, Washio was predictable—hiding by the reference books in their high school library, hiding in the reference room at their workplace.

Washio didn't notice him initially. When he did, he did a double-take and buried his nose in the compiler book opened in front of him.

Onaga scratched the back of his head and smiled—but he stopped, knowing that was him being too careful again. His smile didn't have to be a defense mechanism, especially not when shown to the person he loved. So he approached the table where Washio sat and dropped down beside him to rest on his haunches. He leaned against the table's leg and watched Washio a while, smiling gently at him, partly in the hopes that his senpai would turn his way, partly because the sight of Washio simply made him want to smile. Honestly, Washio made him happy, from head to toe.

"Onaga."

Finally! A word from Washio! "Yes?"

"It's rude to stare."

"Then we both lack manners." His cheekiness convinced Washio to peer at him. "Well, we do," he insisted. "We've both stared regardless of whether the other was looking."

Washio frowned and returned to his book. "So?" he asked, not denying the allegation.

Onaga reached up and slid the book out of reach, closing it as he did so. "Washio-senpai, can't we—"

"Go back to the way things were before? I think not."

"Good."

Washio did another double-take.

Onaga didn't correct him about what he actually had been about to ask. Though he knew he meant what he said, he was still a bit surprised by how easily he'd said it. "I don't want things to be the same," he elaborated.

The older man's frown deepened. "…I…don't know what comes next."

Onaga's smile wavered. What did that mean?

"I've never gotten this far." Washio paused. "Or. This serious." He was all odd pauses and weak tones. His nervousness was showing. It was cute.

Onaga took the hand nearest him and hoped it reassured the other man. "Frankly, me either."

The stern look he received undoubtedly cited Onaga's previous relationship.

"No, I mean it. I wasn't as freaked out as the impression I gave you that morning. To be honest, especially when I left you in the bedroom, I really wanted nothing more than to stay. But…" He sighed. "My mind's a blank when it comes to making this work. It felt scripted with Amuro, as if I knew how to act and what to do and to say. But with you? You surprise me so often, sometimes with the new things I learn about you, sometimes with the things that haven't changed since we were teenagers." His smile returned, stronger. "And I love every bit of it."

Well, hell. If nervous Washio had been cute, tomato-red Washio was beyond adorable, especially coupled with the glare with which he tried to fix Onaga. "You have no idea what you're getting into. _We_ have no idea what we're getting into."

Onaga sighed again and stood, stretching his legs which had been on the verge of falling asleep. He placed one hand on the table and the other on the back of Washio's chair and leaned over the other man. "Senpai. I'm willing to try. Aren't you?"

"…do I have to?"

Onaga knitted his brow together, appearing a wee bit imploring. "Of course not. But, please, be honest with yourself, as well as with me."

Washio, still frowning, rested his elbow on the table and his cheek against his fist, but he at least regarded Onaga carefully. "You know, don't you?"

Onaga almost asked for clarification, but there was a hint of fear in Washio's eyes. So he took a breath. "I figured," he confessed.

"There have been others. A _lot_ of others."

"I understand," Onaga said, feeling exasperated. "But I'd be willing to bet hard money there haven't been any since I came to work here." He said it, his voice small, and he felt another victory when Washio nodded in agreement with him. His heart soared. He had a fighting chance.

_They_ had a fighting chance.

He straightened up then, nodding mostly to himself and leaving Washio confused. "Good. I'm glad. Then hotpot again, tonight. My place."

Washio's shoulders sagged. "How can you be so confident?"

"I'm not. I feel like a teenager again. Remember when you guys first told Coach Yamiji to play me in a real match? My knees are as wobbly now as they were then. Oh, but, uh," he added with a nervous chuckle, "maybe we'll skip the beers for now, if you don't mind."

Washio shook his head, likely not wanting a repeat of the source of their mess either.

Onaga was glad. The next time it happened, he wanted to have happier memories of it, and he didn't want to have to leave the bed right away again, either.

At a loss of what else to discuss, a chime on Washio's phone interrupted them. Washio dug his phone out of his shirt pocket and didn't mind that Onaga stole a peek over his shoulder as he opened his email.

The email was simply a picture and two sentences. The picture showed Shirofuku pinching Konoha's cheek with inhuman strength, judging by the tears in Konoha's eyes, and holding up her left hand, a medium-sized emerald on her ring finger. Beneath her smiling picture, she said, _this idiot proposed~*~*~* you're invited~*~*~*_

"So he really did it," Washio said, perhaps a touch of admiration in his tone.

"We should go," Onaga agreed.

" _'We'_ —?!" Washio whipped his head up at Onaga.

But Onaga was ready for it, and he pecked the older man's lips. He had the humility to be bashful, though, when Washio's face flushed with color again. "If you're all right with that, that is."

Washio answered by pulling on Onaga's tie, giving his nonverbal confirmation.

**Author's Note:**

> WOW. Just… So much happened in this fic, like wtf. XD I'd started this well over a year ago but struggled with it in the beginning, as I tried to pin down my thoughts about their characters overall. Drawing some art for them helped a bit (the cover, the portrait of Onaga's back after their first night), but I think I was also fighting some of what I wanted to do with Washio's character here. He does a lot of things I personally wouldn't do, and I put them in a situation which I tend to avoid reading and writing (one-night stands), but I liked going out of my comfort zone and addressing it the mew way, and thank gods for the cutie that is Onaga. :D Poor kid, having the "Omonaga" nickname (it means "long face," for anyone who doesn't know), and these two just in general being unsatisfied with the inside because they were unsatisfied with the outside, as well. ;w; Unhandsome men, not. I mean, yeah, I don't think the animators did a good job translating Furudate-sensei's designs into moving form, but they're so adorable and precious in the manga. I bet Washio really is a softie deep down, and clearly Onaga's a bashful, respectful cutie. -w- Let's see, what else… I ship Washikono a teensy bit, but I'm pretty solidly brOTP for them (and OTP Konoshiro), and I liked Washio's realization that they were best friends. Oh, you giant child, you. Although he really did act like a child later on…and kind of before, getting fed… Onaga spoils you! And Onaga. I think his personality still comes through, even though I think we get to see him mature here, too. It was important, too, that Takotsubo tried to befriend him at first and Onaga got away from him, as Takotsubo personifies something very specific (hint: Google Takotsubo's name ;3). But, after that horrible experience with Amuro, I'm so glad Washinaga rediscovered their friendship and could fall in love, too, even if they felt they went about it the wrong way… I also love Washio being the distressed one and Onaga just being "Okay. Sign me up. What's next?" XDDD I just. Love these two. So, so much. I could write for days about how much I love them, but, alas, I have more art ideas than fics ideas in mind for them right now (although I'm tempted to write about the Konoshiro wedding, *lol*), so please be patient with me if you look forward to more—or feel free to request more/give me a prompt, either in a review/comment or an ask on tumblr! I'm totes up for that because aNYTHING FOR MY BABIESSSS!
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other stories, too, especially if you enjoy rarepairs.
> 
> -mew-tsubaki -w-


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